An Insubstantial Pageant, page 14
They stood outfacing one another, glances locked, stiff with pride and obduracy and controlled anger. The only sound in the room was the Prince’s ragged, shallow breathing. His mother made a gesture of negation.
‘Very well. Let us return to Sophia’s betrothal. Duke von Gratz would seem to be an admirable choice.’
‘Even though he is known to be licentious, unscrupulous and hungry for power?’
The Dowager Princess rapped the floor with her stick. ‘There are always stories about such men. Only the mediocre pass unnoticed! Sophia can only benefit from a union with someone sufficiently strong and mature to command her respect and obedience now, and who has the necessary qualities to rule at her side when the time comes. Besides which,’ she concluded harshly, ‘he is your brother’s friend.’
‘That is hardly a recommendation,’ Adolphus gasped, seized by a fit of coughing. As he waited for it to subside, his fingers unconsciously curled round Charlotte’s letter, crushing it. Devil take Paul! His hand was behind this. His friend von Gratz laying claim to Sophia’s hand, to Sophia’s inheritance … ‘As for Sophia,’ he continued painfully, ‘she dislikes the Duke. To put it more strongly … she cannot bear him near her.’
‘Pah!’ his mother exclaimed. ‘I hope you will not heed the megrims of a silly girl! Sophia will do as she is told. If she had not been exposed to unsettling influences, I doubt that such a thought would have entered her head.’
‘But it would have entered mine, Mother,’ Prince Adolphus said quietly. ‘You see, I dislike von Gratz also. I always have.’
Chapter Nine
‘My dear, I have been very lax,’ Lottie confessed to Sophia. ‘Your father charged me most particularly to commission a portrait of you. He wished to hang it in the throne room alongside his own.’
In an attempt to repair this omission she asked Alexei to accompany her one evening to the studios of Isabey near the Café Jungling, only to discover that many of the fashionable were also clamouring for the services of the famous artist.
‘Naturally, I shall be delighted to paint the Crown Princess Sophia’s portrait,’ gushed the one-time disciple of the great David. Lottie thought him a little condescending as he flung out an arm to encompass the many canvases in various stages of completion. ‘You can see my difficulty, however. And then, so much of my time each day is spent at the Palace of Schönbrunn, where I am charged by His Majesty, the Emperor, with the task of committing to canvas his grandson, the little King of Rome ‒ the son of Napoleon, you know. Also, I await almost hourly a call to record for posterity the great Congress leaders. And so?’ He shrugged.
Lottie thanked him with scrupulous politeness, said she wouldn’t dream of adding to his difficulties, and left.
‘Poor fellow,’ Alexei chuckled. ‘He looked positively bewildered. I don’t suppose anyone has ever turned him down ‒ not since he became the dernier cri anyway!’ He gave Lottie a droll look. ‘What will you do?’
‘Commission that talented young man from upstairs, of course,’ Lottie said. ‘It is what I should have done in the first place. Those sketches he made on the night of the ball were most impressive. If he can paint half as well, he should be encouraged.’
She passed a message to him by way of Ferdie Graber who now came on three mornings a week to tutor Sophia, and the young man, whose name was Eugene, responded with a promptness that spoke more clearly than words of his ambition to succeed.
‘I must tell you, Gnädige Baroness, that I am no David or even an Isabey,’ he confessed with an engaging frankness. ‘But if you would care to see some of my paintings?’
He was about to bring them down for her to view, but when Lottie owned to a burning desire to see his studio, he bowed graciously and vowed that he would be honoured to receive her.
‘Goodness, you get quite the best view from up here!’ she exclaimed, looking out across the rooftops to the distant Wienerwald. ‘It must surely inspire you.’
Eugene grinned. ‘It is a help, assuredly, but nothing inspires one so much as the necessity to eat.’
Lottie smiled, glancing round the room with its clutter of paints and canvas and clothes, and loving everything about it. And, since his paintings impressed her quite as much as his sketches, she commissioned him on the spot. It was arranged that he would come down with Ferdie to make some informal sketches of Sophia before starting on the actual portrait, and since Alys was present more often than not, an atmosphere of friendly camaraderie soon developed.
‘They are such agreeable young men,’ Lottie confided to Max. ‘And young talent should be encouraged, don’t you think?’
He agreed. ‘Herr Graber has certainly been most helpful to us. He is an excellent musician, and never seems to begrudge the time he spends playing for Alys so that she may practise her dancing. I must say she has come on remarkably.’
Lottie wondered whether he realized how much of Alys’s time was passed in Ferdie’s company. If so, he apparently saw no harm in it, and indeed, if the association were to be judged on the amount of laughter issuing from the music room when the four young people were present, it must surely be considered innocent.
But Fräulein Lanner most certainly did not approve. She had protested vehemently that such casual intimacy was not seemly, but the Baroness had seen fit yet again to disregard her advice. After all, she had argued, there could be no possibility of indiscretion if the Fräulein was present at all times. All the repressions of a nature starved of even the most commonplace attentions from any man rose like gall in her throat as she sat in rigid disapproval, only too aware that if the young men noticed her at all, it was with a kind of amused tolerance bordering on pity. Once she caught the painter observing her with a calculating eye. She suspected that he was sketching her, and just for an instant a wild ungovernable fury swept through her; two angry red spots burned on her cheeks, and he, his sheepish grin fading, shrugged and turned away. Such a situation, she vowed, must not be allowed to continue.
So it was that Countess von Deiter came to call; prompted by the Fräulein, she arrived one morning well before the accepted hour, and was witness to a particularly lively session. She stood for a few moments, uninvited, in the open doorway of the music room, observing the scene; Sophia and Alys were seated at the pianoforte with Herr Graber at their backs. Occasionally, he would lean down between them with considerable familiarity to demonstrate some part of the music. ‘No, no ‒ not like this, young ladies, but like this!’ and his fingers would ripple over the keys with magical expertise. In a chair close by, another young man lounged with an equal lack of formality, sketching furiously and throwing in the occasional witty comment which sent the girls into whoops of laughter.
The Countess exchanged a meaningful glance with Fräulein Lanner before turning away to confront Lottie. ‘I am surprised, Baroness,’ she said, her voice sharp as ever, ‘or perhaps it would be more accurate to say shocked to see our Princess in such company.’
‘Indeed? I cannot think why, ma’am.’ Lottie kept her voice polite. ‘It is all perfectly harmless. In fact, I consider these morning sessions to be a most instructive part of Sophia’s education ‒ of more use to her than a dozen formal balls, for she is learning how ordinary people go on. It will prove invaluable to her when she comes to take her place as head of state.’
But the Countess went away, cold-eyed.
‘I expect a highly coloured account is even now winging its way to Gellenstadt,’ Lottie told Alexei a little pensively.
‘Poor Lottie! How difficult a time you are having. It comes of having too generous a nature. You want to make everyone happy ‒ your Prince Adolphus, little Sophia, Alys ‒ also those nice young men!’ He grinned sympathetically. ‘Even with my Emperor you are too kind. Does he still pursue you?’
It was a vexed question. ‘I have done all I can to discourage him short of outright rudeness. One can hardly cut so prestigious a monarch, can one?’
‘You will have to get yourself a husband, moya dorogoya,’ he teased her. ‘Someone who will guard you jealously from such unwelcome attentions. I would offer myself to you, but I fear I would prove a sad disappointment. To be faithful … even to you …’ He gave a comical little shrug.
The face whose image flashed into Lottie’s mind was even more unsuitable (and unwanted, she told herself sternly), but an embarrassed blush suffused her cheeks.
‘Oh-ho! I have stumbled on a secret, hein!’ he chuckled. ‘There is someone ‒’ She shook her head vigorously and told him not to be silly. ‘‒ but you do not wish me to know. Ah well!’
Lottie had not seen Prince Paul alone since their last eventful encounter and she had no wish to do so, she reminded herself, angry at the way her thoughts kept turning to him. She saw him often, of course, in the company of an exceedingly beautiful brunette with an impressive title and very few morals, who was exactly right for him!
The Czar was a rather different problem. Lottie had returned his present with a letter expressing her deep gratitude for his generous thought of her, but explaining that so beautiful and extravagant a gesture was much more than she could accept.
By return had come a tiny heart-shaped pin, also of sapphires, with the plea that ‘this trifling bibelot will be more acceptable, dear Baroness’ and an added expectation that they would meet at the Beethoven concert. Since this was a special gala concert, to be given in the presence of the Czar and King Frederick William of Prussia, at which the Great Man was himself to conduct a new work ‒ and Ferdie had particularly wished them to go as he was to be playing in the orchestra ‒ it had seemed prudent to accept the gift and hope that it would be the end of the matter.
But alas, it was not. Her refusal to encourage him merely whetted Alexander’s appetite. He was unaccustomed to meet with opposition, however virtuous the lady in question. At every function he sought her out ‒ billets-doux arrived with monotonous regularity, and though Lottie behaved with absolute discretion, the Czar’s tendre for her could hardly escape the notice of those about them; Prince Metternich in particular took a delight in marking the progress, or lack of it, of Alexander’s suit.
Christmas came and went with midnight mass in St Stefan’s Cathedral and much exchanging of presents, amongst which was a huge box of sweetmeats from the Czar, cunningly addressed to both Lottie and the Princess. The festivities were marred only a little for his friends by the death in December of the much beloved Prince de Ligne. Though in his eightieth year he had retained the elegant and sprightly air of a much younger man to the very last and had succumbed finally to a chill.
‘Poor fellow,’ remarked Alexei with a wry twinkle. ‘I am told that he took the chill waiting on a street corner for an assignation! Would that I may be as full of optimism when I reach so venerable an age!’
There were to be so many New Year celebrations that people were spoilt for choice. The Baroness and Sophia had of course been invited to the Hofburg to be part of the Emperor’s grand festivities, but when the subject was broached, Sophia seemed oddly reluctant.
‘You haven’t quarrelled with that nice young man, have you?’ Lottie enquired casually.
‘No, of course not.’ But Sophia was still subdued. ‘I am just a little tired, I think,’ she said evasively, and when Lottie’s eyes registered disbelief, she added in a little rush, ‘besides, Duke Franz will most probably be there, and ‒’
‘And you don’t wish to spoil your evening by subjecting yourself to his unwelcome attentions! My dear child, why didn’t you say so? I don’t blame you in the least.’ Lottie kept her voice cheerfully practical. ‘How would it be if we went to Lady Merrivale’s? She is giving quite a small party for some of the English people here. I know that is where the Annesleys intend to go.’
‘Oh, could we really? The Emperor would not be offended?’
Lottie affected not to notice the look of profound relief that flooded the young girl’s face. ‘I’m sure we can manage something without giving offence.’ She gave a wry chuckle. ‘To be honest, I would as lief not have to fend off the Czar, either! So you see, we are both in the same difficulty.’
Their apologies, couched in the most tactful and persuasive terms, were graciously accepted by the Emperor, and the evening turned out to be one of the happiest and, in the end, the most eventful that Lottie could remember.
It was a very special occasion, also, for Alys. She had vowed to begin the New Year in a positive way, by dancing the first waltz after midnight with Max ‒ the first time she had done so in public, for although she now mingled much more, and had made many friends, it had taken until now for her to pluck up the courage to expose herself to so much attention.
The secret had been well kept, even from Mrs Osmond. She was in the middle of a comfortable exchange of gossip with Lady Merrivale when the latter suddenly put up her lorgnette as though unable to believe the evidence of her own eyes. ‘Whoever is that dancing with Max? Surely it cannot be …’ She rapped Mrs Osmond imperatively on the arm. ‘What is this, ma’am? You did not tell me that Alys had taken to dancing!’
‘Alys? Where? No, no … I am sure you must be mistaken!’ Mrs Osmond peered in the direction indicated by her companion. ‘Oh, the dear child!’ Her eyes misted over. ‘What a sly puss … Max, too, to keep it from me! Ah, but doesn’t she look well?’
Indeed, Alys was acquitting herself with such grace and fluency that, unbeknown to her, the other couples had moved to the side of the floor to allow Max the freedom to enable her to express herself to the full. When the music came to an end, they all applauded warmly, and the sound mingled with the triumphant pealing of bells from every church tower in Vienna.
‘I wanted it to be a complete surprise,’ she confessed when, breathless and pink from her exertions, she had to endure the playful scolding of Cousin Carrie. ‘Oh, but I was so nervous!’
It was in this happy mood, with Sophia relaxed and enjoying herself in the best possible way with no shortage of partners, that Lottie presently found herself alone with Max. They had grown much closer of late. He was a very easy person to be with ‒ quietly humorous, intelligent, considerate ‒ all the qualities that she most admired in a man. Sophia had even begun to give her little sidelong looks whenever Max was mentioned.
It still came as a surprise, however, when, soon after Alys’s triumph, and with everyone in the gayest of moods, Max gradually grew silent ‒ even a little edgy, which was unusual for him. In the middle of their dance he suddenly swept her out of the room and into a small salon off the hall where, quite abruptly, he proposed.
‘I had meant to wait,’ he said wryly. ‘But I think I have been a little in love with you from that very first moment when I saw you looking down at me from the balcony with such an endearing air of guilt ‒ like a child caught out in a misdemeanour! Even then I thought you beautiful!’
‘Oh Max!’ In spite of her confusion, of the sheer gravity of such a moment, her mouth curved in memory. ‘I was so mortified ‒ and it wasn’t even my handkerchief ‒ it was Sophia’s!’
This brought a faint answering smile as he took her hand in his. ‘It wasn’t the handkerchief I fell in love with ‒ though I didn’t recognize it as love at the time.’ He waited for a reply, then said, with an abruptness that hid his shyness, ‘Am I to have an answer?’
Lottie wished he hadn’t asked her. You need a husband, Alexei had said, and perhaps he was right. Max would make a wonderful husband, loving and kind ‒ so why did she hesitate? She was fond of him, perhaps she even loved him, and a part of her wanted to say ‘yes’ to him at once. Only where was the exhilaration? She felt unaccountably flat. And then she saw his face, carefully schooled in preparation for her refusal.
She held out her hands to him impulsively. ‘Oh, my dear ‒ how dreadfully ungrateful I must appear! I am deeply honoured, but if I might just have a little time to think? There are so many considerations ‒ Sophia ‒ my duty to her father …’ She caught his eye and laughed a little breathlessly. ‘Does that sound very unromantic? I don’t mean it to be ‒’
‘Don’t go on!’ Max said, drawing her close. ‘Take all the time you need, just so long as you say “yes” at the end of it!’
His kiss was full of a quiet persuasive passion ‒ and promised more, and it was not his fault that just for an instant Lottie found one corner of her mind making comparisons. As if to compensate for this unwitting act of betrayal, she returned his kiss with so much ardour that he was encouraged to pursue his cause more thoroughly.
They returned to the ballroom at last to find that Prince Paul had arrived ‒ in search of his niece, he said, to give her his New Year greetings. He had come alone, and Lottie feared, from the disturbing glitter in his eyes, that he might have been seeing the New Year in rather too well.
Paul wasn’t sure why he had come; at least he wasn’t sure until he saw Lottie come into the ballroom from the deuce knew where, her colour heightened, and Annesley with that smug look on his face that made him want to plant his fist right in the middle of it! A dangerous unpredictable smile curled his mouth. That would bring the New Year in with a bang!
‘Your Highness?’
A soft diffident voice at his side made him swing round. Alys Annesley was there, her face lifted towards him in that curious listening way she had, and looking full of a kind of suppressed radiance that threatened to burst out at any moment. ‘I have just danced my first waltz in public,’ she said with shy eagerness. ‘And it is all thanks to you!’
The sarcastic retort that had been on his lips died without utterance, faced with her gentle innocence. His face softened. ‘Then don’t you think I am owed at least one dance by way of recompense?’ And he threw Lottie a look that dared her or her tame beau to deny it to him.
